Mister Highwayman
by The Sincerities
Summary: Far beyond the distance of Townsville, some say they can see the silhouette of a highwayman in love. — Blues.


15 January 2012

mr highwayman  
>: <em>her words of adieux<em>

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><p>Bubbles breathes past the hours of twilight. Her eyes grow wider under the moonbeams, her hair gleams its color of the finest champagne. She walks a living dream.<p>

Hours tick around her by the time she sits with her arms resting on her windowsill, eyes fluttering slowly as drowse pulls at her conscious. Townsville is dimmed, her household still—sisters and professor fallen victim to slumber.

She thinks she's enduring the urge in her eyelids when, suddenly, they drag open to a patter against her windowpane. Her head lifts from its spot on her arms, eyes adjusting to the figure blurred in the background, calm and smiling.

She makes sure to listen for any trace of life from behind her door before pushing open her window and spreading its glass wings.

She's rubbing gently at her eye when he whispers to her. "I'm here to take you away with me."

Bubbles lets the attractive coon of his voice sink and mold into her mindset before she clears her throat and stares with half-lids at the male sitting before her, sitting on the roof panels on his side of the rounded window.

"Boomer, what are you talking about?" she says, soft, sweet; tired.

He leans over the windowsill and rests his chin upon it, now smirking up at her as he watches her sit properly over her quilted cushions.

"I'm here to kidnap you."

"Mhm," she hums, now leaning against the wall acting as perimeter to the window and to the small indent of her room.

"So you comin'?" His expression grows amused.

"Coming where?"

"With me, of course!" He grins. "What do you say?"

Bubbles' eyes flick to the clock on her desk and back. She then looks down at her attire and manages to blink a response.

"Mhm."

"Cool," he says, head lifting with a brightened expression. "Put on some sneakers or somethin' and we're out."

Bubbles lifts herself from the shelved seat beneath her window, subconsciously walking to her closet doors and pulling out a pair of worn down shoes. A hand digs into her wardrobe and and out with a pair of socks just as Boomer calls out to her and tosses the jacket he is wearing.

"Wear that. You'll be warmer."

She scans over the plain shirt he's rolling the sleeves up to as she's slipping her foot into its proper sneaker.

"Are you sure? You should be warm too."

"Don't worry about me; I live for this type of weather."

He smiles and she can't help but smile back as she's reaching for the hooded jacket waiting on her seat cushions. She pulls it over her and lets it drape over her shoulders.

Boomer moves aside, kneeling as Bubbles crawls through her window, shuts one wing gingerly, and leaves the other tucked with a discrete opening for her return. The smell of him lingers around her, the scent of a sweet tidal wave cologne, she notes, just as she looks into the flame of adventure in his eyes.

He holds her gaze and lifts himself while holding a hand out at her crouched position. She takes it, her palm and fingers feminine and small.

Without warning he jumps with her, shocking her eyes open by the time they land on the sidewalk, a trail of clouded blues lining the fall.

Bubbles is now looking up at a crookedly cunning grin. His eyes squint and shine in their navy glow, and he's chuckling at her when he leans in and stops.

"You scared?"

She shakes her head with a trace of hesitance.

"Good."

.

* * *

><p>Their steps, it seems, have grown soft enough for the twinkle and chime of the stars to grow audible.<p>

Since their jump from her rooftop, he hasn't let go of her hand ( though she agrees that she doesn't really mind ). Their fingers have long ago twined together, palms pressed against one-another.

It takes a turn around a winding corner for Bubbles to recognize the area they are walking into.

"Boomer—."

"_Shh_," he gives her hand a squeeze, "_patience, Bubs_."

When the soles of their shoes crunch beneath silvered whites of sand, Bubbles' eyes close in a breeze of nostalgia. She can hear their childlike voices in her head; she can feel the ruffle of her favorite summer dress, baby blue and fluffed; she can see his night-sky eyes accentuating a boyish grin.

She's five again in an instant.

"_Go on_," he whispers close enough to her ear, causing her eyes to open and stare closely at his serine expression.

He inches her along with him to the swing set before them and releases the grip on her hand. He's behind her as soon as she levers herself onto the cooled seat, excited, arms reaching onto the chains rising over her head.

Bubbles turns to look up at him and he smirks.

He shifts her back and releases in time to encase her waist in the motion of a push. The actions repeat, the silence of the night drowning in giggles.

.

* * *

><p>"We're not supposed to be . . ."<p>

"I know."

Her head is on his shoulder, eyes batting with tiredness. He has an arm around her, making sure she's pressed against him securely.

Their spot on the bench gives view to the entire playground glazed under the shine of the moon. Despite the breeze licking at them with chills, the two embrace the warmth of one another.

"We're just like we were back when you had first transferred into Pokey Oaks with Brick and Butch."

Boomer lets out a chuckle, his head now resting over her streams of champagne.

"Sneaking away whenever we got the chance, eh?"

"Mhm."

Bubbles chooses to stare into the panel of stars and moon before lowering her eyes.

"I missed you . . ."

The trees rustle, leaving them in silence until he finally responds.

"Distance makes the heart grow fonder."

She laughs, her fingers coiling tighter onto his shirt.

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?"

"Of course you are," he smiles. "So, what do you say about getting you back home so you can wake up?"

Bubbles shakes her head, her laugh dimming.

"I don't want to wake up."

They rise from their spot regardless.

.

* * *

><p>"Kidnapers don't return those whom they kidnap," she says, pouting as they both crawl in through her window.<p>

Their steps are like feathers raining onto hardware, Bubbles' sneakers being left beside her bedside as Boomer waves her toward the surface. She's about to speak when he brings a finger to her lips, silencing her.

"_Shh_," he says, "_don't wanna wake your sisters, do you_?"

He coaxes her under the various quilts and blankets layered onto her bed, watching as she snuggles between her stuffed animals, Octi safe in her arms as she stares up at him with sea wave eyes, equally as wide as they were in their years of youth.

"I'll be back before you know it, alright?" He pats her head, gently guiding his hand to give her chin a lift. "When you least expect it, just like old times."

"Promise?" she croaks, her eyes translucent, shimmering; sad.

"I promise."

He gives her nose a pinch, smiling at the crinkle and wink she gives in return.

"Goodnight, Bubs." He pauses with a trail of visible, everlasting thought. "Sweet dreams."

"_I'll miss you_," she whispers, watching as he kneels down.

"Yeah," he says. "I know, so will I . . ."

Her grip on Octi tightens, her lip quivering.

Together, neither makes another sound; neither wants to leave.

Boomer stands once more, never leaving Bubbles' gaze. He nods.

"I'll be back before you know it."

Her nod is slow but she agrees with a quick squeeze of her eyes.

Their lips are one before she can react, and she swears she doesn't want to wake up. She hopes and swears she doesn't.

.

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><p><em>On the rarest of nights, far beyond the distance of Townsville, some say they can see the silhouette of a highwayman in love.<em>

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><p>That night, Bubbles dreams under the scent of a sweet tidal wave cologne.<p>

.

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><p><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: Credit for _The Powerpuff Girls_ belongs to Craig McCracken.


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